


Miss Strong-Pants

by Pheeney



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship, Sword Fighting, Swords (but like not in a penis way), cute little drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 19:50:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8909746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pheeney/pseuds/Pheeney
Summary: Surana asks Alistair to teach her how to use a sword.





	

“Hey Alistair…”  
“Yes?” Alistair said.  
“Could you teach me sword fighting?”  
Alistair’s eyebrows raised and a half-smile grew on his face. Surana, anyone would think, was not the type to use a sword. As a mage, and an elven mage at that, she looked small and frail, especially with her slightly oversized mage robes (which she hated). In short, she was no warrior. “Why the sudden interest in sword fighting?”  
“Well, in the tower they didn’t teach us anything useful like actual combat. We only learnt magic.” Her face crinkled up. “And reading.”  
Alistair chuckled. “I don’t know, setting fire to my enemies with my fingers would be pretty useful.”  
“You know what I mean,” Surana shot back, returning his smile, “What if I lost my magic mid-battle? I’d be completely ineffective!”  
“Okay, okay,” Alistair said with his hands up. “You convinced me. It’s getting dark, but if we stay near the fire, we should be alright.” Alistair turned to their weapon haul, while Surana found a clear spot by the side of the campfire, opposite to where Wynne was reading. 

“Okey-dokey,” Alistair said, handing Surana a small, one-handed sword. She snickered as she took it, clenching her hand around the hilt.  
“First of all, try not to hold it so hard. Your arm will tire too quickly.” He loosened her two bottom fingers from the sword. “There, you’ll have more control.”  
“Huh,” she said, gliding the sword through the air.  
“You also need to stand properly. Like this.” He moved into a fighting stance, with his legs a shoulder width apart, one foot in front of the other, and slightly bent legs. She easily copied him.  
“I know how to stand with a staff, you know.”  
“Alright!” He laughed, “You wanted me to teach you, Miss Smarty-Pants.”  
Surana laughed back. “I’ve got a weapon, you know, and soon I’ll know how to use it!”  
“Only because you have the best teacher.”

Wynne, who was still sitting by the fire with her book, smirked to herself. 

“So,” Alistair started, “You start ‘on guard’, with your hand up like this.” He held his arm up, as if he was holding a sword out in front of him. Surana imitated him. Poorly.  
“Well, not quite… Here.” He moved to stand behind her, his chest just brushing her back. He paused, for just a millisecond, before bring his hand up to hers and moving her arm into position. He held her arm up, for just longer than a millisecond this time, before–  
“By the Maker, your arms are skinny!”  
“Oi!” she laughed, pulling her hand from his and elbowing his ribs.  
“They’re like sticks!”  
“What do you expect? The heaviest things we carry are books!” She held the sword down, the tip digging into the dirt.  
Alistair lightly wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “It fits so easily in my hand,” he said in mock bewilderment.  
She pulled her hand away with a smile. “You son of a nug.”  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said with a chuckle as he held his hands up in surrender. “I shouldn’t anger you, you might attack me with your stick arms.”  
“Well, could you teach me to then?”  
“Fine, okay, I will. Do you want to do attack or defence first?”  
Surana raised an eyebrow.  
“That’s right, I know you well enough. Attack it is!”

And, in truth, they had only known each other for a few months, although they felt much longer. As an ex-Templar and a mage that hated the Circle, the two had bonded quickly (with the help of several catastrophes and the threat of imminent Thedas-wide doom). Having saved both Redcliffe Castle and the Circle Tower, they were on their way to the Brecilian Forest, hoping for an uneventful encounter with some Dalish elves who might honour the treaty. They knew it was unlikely, though.

After a while of various strikes and thrusts, the two stopped and sat by the fire before calling it a night. Wynne had long gone to bed.  
“I’m sure you’ll be a master swordswoman one day, you just wait.”  
“Is that right?” Surana replied.  
“You’re a total pro. With my tutelage, you’ll rival the best Knights in Ferelden.”  
Surana laughed half-heartedly. “I wish.” She paused. “I don’t have the strength for that.”  
“What do you mean?” Alistair asked.  
“I’m weak,” she said, holding her small arms slightly out in front of her, looking downward. “Without magic, what can I do? Any Templar could do that in a fight, and then what? And my arms are tired just from tonight.”  
“Are you kidding?” Alistair said in disbelief. “You’re one of the strongest people I know! Do I need to remind you that you broke free of the sloth demon’s hold by sheer stubbornness and will? And you had to drag me out of there kicking and screaming.” Surana looked up to meet his face. “Your strength is up there,” he gestured to her head, “Where it matters.”  
Surana smiled. “You’re a flatterer, you know that?”  
“Did it work?” he asked, returning the smile.  
She paused, and then patted his knee with a smirk. “Goodnight, Alistair.”  
“Goodnight, Miss Strong-Pants.”


End file.
